How is it, that I am but less dead?
Could I shed my past, learn to live?
Perhaps I need, more want to be fed
Or the wish of love, mine to give.
Though how can I need, when I want?
And what is want, when I hold much?
The possessors prize, can just taunt
But I can not need, with Midas touch.
For if I have loved, have I lost?
Then when I have lived, have I won?
And then love, is but my heart's frost
While my life, is God's brief son.
So what is a life, with out love?
My Earth, with out Heaven above.